Great Uncle was a musician
He chased his dream on a mission
He never penned a song
Folks knew him well down in Nashville
Though music paid no big gas bill
He had true ambition
His songs found a sweet rendition
He played with open admission
His true love was lifelong
John picked his guitar with goodwill
With joy, the music he instilled
Sharing tunes, his mission
To make music his tradition
Spontaneous compositions
If I could string along
I'd play it with my own free will
John Craig showed such a master skill
He strummed strings all day long!
John Craig rode as a musician
With grit and a deep ambition
Just pickin' it along
John would pluck out his chords at will
With six-strings he'd ride and travel
Playing good tunes, headstrong!
He was a slick string technician
A musical aesthetician!
He played for trav'lers all night long
I'm not sure he knew a playbill
His playin' was a sweet earful
John Craig's songs still roll along!
[Even if in my mind!]
Great Uncle was a musician
He chased his dream on a mission
He never penned a song
Folks knew him well down in Nashville
Though music paid no big gas bill
He had true ambition
His songs found a sweet rendition
He played with open admission
His true love was lifelong
John picked his guitar with goodwill
With joy, the music he instilled
Sharing tunes, his mission
To make music his tradition
Spontaneous compositions
If I could string along
I'd play it with my own free will
John Craig showed such a master skill
He strummed strings all day long!
John Craig rode as a musician
With grit and a deep ambition
Just pickin' it along
John would pluck out his chords at will
With six-strings he'd ride and travel
Playing good tunes, headstrong!
He was a slick string technician
A musical aesthetician!
He played for trav'lers all night long
I'm not sure he knew a playbill
His playin' was a sweet earful
John Craig's songs still roll along!
[Even if in my mind!*
We said ‘goodbye John’ today
What should we say
A Brave Yankee he was
Creating buzz
Announcing home runs in the air
Using a style entertaining, sparking flair
Turning a routine afternoon affair
Around
Toasting Pinstripe town
Even if the team was down
Jeter, Rodriguez and Judge
Success never budged
Standing strong
Waiting for the Liza and Frank Song
Written by Kandor and Ebb
Famous on Broadway many said
But giving a Sterling performance
Made everyone sing and dance
Line up had the creative look
Radio listening enjoying the personal hook
Seemed written in the playbill book
Holy Cow!
Is where he is now
Hearing how bout that
When at bat
He gets the call
Joining Phil and Mel watching baseball
Love is a harpoon
Joy is a spinning umbrella
Grief is an empty suitcase
Hope is steam above tea
Love is a gun
Love is a sledgehammer
Anxiety is a pencil sharpener
Relief is a freshly made bed
Fatigue is a half-buttoned coat
Love is an ice pick
Love is a bonfire
Gratitude is a signed playbill
Resentment is burnt toast
Shock is shattering glass
Love is a ship in a bottle
If we were a beach
then you would be the sand, diamond warmth,
and I the shingle underfoot.
If we were a pen
then I would be invisible ink,
and you a permanent marker, fluorescent.
If we were wine
you would be the vineyard, the grape, the wine list itself;
I a bottle unopened, left corked.
If we were a theatre
I am the playbill of a show cancelled and unseen;
you, the stage in spotlight: golden, applauded.
I the tile and you the whole mosaic
for us as a Roman floor;
I a shattered pane and you the handle
with us in the shape of a door.
As clothing – you a shiny button, me a thread to be snipped.
As hair – you a photographed trend, I a ponytail clipped.
If we were a couple,
Then you would be blind.
If our love was a tape,
I’d forever record, pause and rewind.
If we were a cake
you would be the fingertip licked icing
and I a batter filled lump.
If we were a body
then you would be the heart
and I the blood you pump.
Playbill: Sept 8, 2001
Time gives a bifocal view to the written scenes of life.
Mental screams of past strife.
Broken pencils lead to scenes being inked, unable to erase.
Scenes misplaced.
X-ing out terms, words piercing through providing a Seeing Eye glass for transparency able to entertain those in the balcony.
Casting call for the supporting roles
Contact list full but cell phone providing no service, alone.
Curtain call;
first scene;
the first cut;
Depression rolls down her arm-pain dripping to the floor.
Living has become her anesthetic
Inherited this dis ease of dejection
Pierced flesh unable to mend, bandaged in rejection
Second call-Healing on the horizon
Head to the sky she prays for the intoxication of faith
To be healed from the genes she had held.
Final cut-Faith birthed.
You shall live and not die
©A.N.U October 31, 2014 A.N.U Experience, LLC
All rights reserved
It was one of those days…not great!
I went to the mailbox, there to find
A playbill dated September 8.
I could not tell for sure, half blind.
It seemed like a bill for raking the leaves.
Perhaps, written by my second grandson.
Or it could have been for sweeping the eves.
He asked that I pay him for work he had done.
The night before, “Dog” chewed my trifocals.
Shattering my precarious vision.
Fortunately, I found my old bifocals.
It was time; I was about to have some fun!
But first, I must read the chronicles
And finish an ongoing word puzzle.
It is amazing what thoughts the mind mulls:
Pranks for the kid, a muzzle for the dog.
Just three more words until completion,
My doggone pencil broke; life can be funny.
I took out my cell phone and called my grandson.
He laughed when I thanked him a million … in play money!
October 29, 2014
There they sit, those mocking reminders, on my nightstand table.
I wish I could just throw them out, but I find that I am unable.
There they sit, reminding me, of the life that we once shared,
Before the tragic, life-changing attack, on towers no longer there.
The playbill dated, September 8, in the year 2001;
The last time we went on a date and enjoyed a life of fun.
Three days before he started work in the Trade Center Towers;
If only I had known that day, my life would change in hours.
The cell phone with his last voice mail, which I will never erase;
His calming message, I can replay, next to a picture of his face.
I wasn’t there to answer it when he said his last “good-bye”
It still sits beside my bed always there to make me cry.
A pair of his bifocal glasses that he used to read at night,
Completes the set of memories when my life was still alright.
I know it’s been almost 15 years, and people say I should let go
But I don’t want to forget this man, who I used to love to know.
There they sit, those mocking reminders, on my nightstand table.
I wish I could just throw them out, but I find that I am unable.
An innocence we used to know
As morning dourly turns to night
Entombed beneath an ashen snow
A cell phone yearning for hello
With hopes of answer growing slight
An innocence we used to know
Within a stampede’s torrid flow
Bifocals lost in jostled fright
Entombed beneath an ashen snow
A playbill from three days ago
Once read with wonder and delight
An innocence we used to know
Pillars raised in commerce glow
Now broken pencils thrown in spite
Entombed beneath an ashen snow
So many hearts in fervent throes
So many souls in heaven’s sight
An innocence we used to know
Entombed beneath an ashen snow
Chopped - Poetry Contest
Including:
Playbill dated 08 Sep 2001
Cell Phone
Broken Pencil
Bifocals
-23 Oct 2014-
Locked
within
memories
of happy times.
Fun we had that night
Bought a new cell phone, hate
wearing new pair bi focals.
broke a pencil signing name on
a playbill for" Tarzan of the Apes"
Dated Eighth September Twenty 0 One
"Used Cell Phone, Pair bi focals,broken pencil,a playbill dated 8 Sept 2001."
Just like you to make a last minute date,
leaving me a quickly scribbled note,
before tossing aside that broken campaign pencil from last year's election--
I remember you snapping it apart
when you found out your man lost.
I laughed at you peering through your old bifocal glasses,
frame twisted awkwardly,
making you look somewhat frog-eyed.
"Let's see that production you mentioned.
Meet you at 7:30, the Lyric; dinner afterward."
I did an "Oh, goodie!" and left for work.
You never arrived; cell phone going straight to voicemail.
I stared at the playbill, September 8, 2001,
gave up and drove home, worried . . .
The police found me here,
telling me the details in their flat, official way;
three days later, your funeral . . .
a whole world grieves with me
for today American changed,
today, everything changed . . .
Faye Lanham Gibson
Copyright, October 3, 2014
Evil’s Bookends
Sept 8, 2001, 7:30PM
The limo arrives
the concierge opens the doors
to a clear cool night in the city,
a first Broadway Play.
A cell phone call, a Playbill
tucked between a broken pencil
and a pair of bifocals.
Sept 12, 2001, 10:35AM
Sirens blare
amid grey-white ash.
A cell phone rings,
torn Playbill flaps.
Broken pencil,
sightless glasses,
crushed in the grip
of mindless madness.
9/30/2014
Submitted for Craig Cornish
Chopped – Poetry Contest
The New York skyline glimmered in the sun
Saw September 8th 2001
was printed on the playbill in her hand
Happily she sought her name written there
At long last she had achieved top billing
Singing an aria she twirled around
Her costume spread in a circular swish
Then picking up a broken pencil stub
She marked a misspelling in the address
Cell phone buzzed, reverberating loudly
Spurring Joanna out of her bubble
It was the director of the opera
Heard, "Hi Jo, reviews predict a long run!"
Donning her new bifocal sunglasses
She appraised her mirrored "star" reflection
Imagining a brilliant future.
Contest: Chopped Updated
Sponsored by: Craig Cornish
items in my container of memories
playbill for "Les Miserables" that Dad enjoyed
reminder of ignoble government
Jean Val Jean’s quest for justice
fugitive from the merciless Javert
outdated cell phone that’s priceless
forever I’ll carry it; this cannot be lost
inbox carries my father’s last message to me
“Happy New Year, Baby,” were his words
just 30 minutes before his fatal stroke
publication of Dad’s obituary
green light for thieves to trash his house
tearfully driving 250 miles, hoping to erase their indignity
televisions, heirlooms and appliances stolen
but Dad’s desk held items of greater value
many awards for the Senior Olympics five-mile race
pencil my CPA father chewed and broke
dreaded bifocals that caused Dad consternation
the only items thieves left behind
were those that bring Dad closer to me
*June 20, 2019
Contest: More to Me
Sponsor: William Kekaula
YACKETY-YACK
This broken pencil was just a nub – no longer usable.
I wanted to jot down the amount of this playbill dated September 08, 2001.
However, I decided to save the amount in my contacts of my cell phone.
These bifocal glasses are working to well.
I am observing a pigeon dropper slight of hands.
I am now walking down the street of angst.
Somebody had deliberately ticked me off.
Muscle spasms occurred.
I call my husband for him to come pick me up.
Disgusted by my lack of control, I begin to analyze my reasons.
Via conclusion, I derived that I am not going to be cheated out of a good life.
__________________________________________|
PENNED SEPTEMBER 30, 2014!
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